


Tag, You're It

by MercuryAlice



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Power Dynamics, actual five year olds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryAlice/pseuds/MercuryAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rather than arc up at the slights, he became the poster child for the customer service employee who took it all in silence and then one day very calmly picked up a rifle and systematically murdered everyone in the vicinity. On the bright side, Lucien had no intention of being in that vicinity when that particular vision for the future came to fruition. The reactions he craved were far less spectacular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tag, You're It

_Looking at me through your window_

_Boy, you had your eye out for a little_

_"I'll cut you up and make you dinner_

_You've reached the end, you are the winner”_

**Tag, You’re It by Melanie Martinez**

 

Talent was just a studied and mastered application, anyone could be ‘talented’ at anything if they tried hard and long enough at it. After a thousand years, Lucien could be considered talented at many things. Granted, at least half those things weren’t quite relevant to the 21st century. One that was, however, was a very long studied and mastered applied talent for ruining Tristan De Martel’s day.

Everyone had a hobby, and that was his. It was a very time consuming hobby, some days.

But for the most part, it was tiny passing micro-aggressions that did the trick. If nothing else, it did wonders to shut the man up. Rather than arc up at the slights, he became the poster child for the customer service employee who took it all in silence and then one day very calmly picked up a rifle and systematically murdered everyone in the vicinity. On the bright side, Lucien had no intention of being in that vicinity when that particular vision for the future came to fruition. The reactions he craved were far less spectacular.

It was the little things in life that brought him vicious entertainment.

It was bleeding Tristan’s latest assistant out and compelling her off a very public rooftop or to the bottom of a pool, and the almost imperceptible grit of teeth at the dramatics.

It was answering twelve text messages in a row with obnoxious Japanese emojis and the forty-five minute pause in replies before he got a simple ‘Spare me.’ in answer, when he could almost see him narrowing his beady eyes and counting through the urge to break something.

It was switching out ever liquid in every bottle for vinegar and never having it brought up, but watching Tristan pause ever so slightly at the offer of a vodka the next day.

When this faux allegiance had been broached, he’d made the executive decision to let it run its course. He would stand behind Tristan long enough to eventually physically shove him from the mortal coil, and in the meantime, he would make it worth his own while by going out of his way to make it as uncomfortable for him as possible. If nothing else in the world, Lucien excelled at being petty and unnecessarily childish. At least he could admit that, unlike some.

Of course, it was always going to reach a tipping point. Not as spectacular as his favored analogy of the impressed upon customer service employee, but close enough by Tristan standards.

Lucien managed a wet laugh at the blade slid between his shoulder blades, flashing a grin that was all teeth as his head was yanked back by the hair. “Let’s not get undignified.” He parroted in a decent approximation of tone, for someone bleeding into their own lungs. The snipe did its job, and Tristan released a breath through his teeth as he stepped back; twisting the knife before he saw fit to remove it.

“Perhaps ‘Pot’ would suit you better than ‘Castle’, given your fondness for calling the kettle black.” Tristan answered evenly, but he could hear the faintest hint of sour rage beneath it and again he laughed as he righted himself; giving an affected shrug and rolling the kinks out of his neck.

  
“You just called yourself a kettle, I want that in writing.” He remarked, leaving no time for a reply before he struck out and snapped Tristan’s neck with immense satisfaction. “I think this little arrangement has run its course.” He added, for no other audience but himself; stepping over the thousand year old suited excuse for a paperweight and sliding his phone from his pocket.

Copy and paste was a wonderful addition to the world, and as he walked out, Lucien utilized it to send eighty identical emojis to Tristan to remark upon his current interest in any allegiance: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
